236 A MONTH IN THE FOKESTS OF FRANCE. 



thickest lying. Of course we had not been long thus 

 uselessly wiling away a lovely day, when one of 

 these faithful hounds began practising on the cre- 

 dulity of Frenchmen, by flinging the tongue. I kept 

 ahead, and down the wind to rides and places where 

 I could see, but nothincr stirred. Jules and I at last 

 met, and 1 said, — 



" Hark at that old noisy beggar, hunting a mouse, 

 or else the heels of the horse of the huntsman ; it's 

 nothins: else." 



" Oh, no," he replied ; " no doubt the wolves have 

 been there." 



" Been there ! " I cried ; ^' I don't doubt it, some 

 time or other in their lives ; but that old false devil 

 is not speaking to them. I tell you, Jules, for the 

 hundredth time, these French hounds hunt you or 

 their masters. I have seen yours hunt you full cry, 

 when there was nothing else, and no other excuse for 

 noise, and the hound we hear is occasionally doing 

 the same." 



Presently after this, along another ride, up came 

 M. E. Brunier, and sat with us. 



''Ask him, Jules," I said, *'what that hound is 

 hunting?" The reply to this was a dubious shake 

 of the head from the hound's owner. 



" Wow, wow," the cry continued towards the 



